


To Be or Not To Be | The Rosie Files

by MostlyVoidPartiallyArchive



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: EIJFAU, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Rosie might be ooc, Tags and warnings added as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24807082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostlyVoidPartiallyArchive/pseuds/MostlyVoidPartiallyArchive
Summary: Snippets of Rosie’s life before and after Sasha James takes over as head Archivist.I will add trigger warnings to applicable chapters, and if I miss anything you think I should tag please let me know!This also all started because of a tiktok au tag
Relationships: Jonathon Sims/Martin Blackwood, Sasha James/Rosie, Tim Stoker/Rosie, Tim Stoker/Sasha James
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to: Rosie is a polyamorous bisexual disaster who has crushes on two fellow employees.
> 
> Timeline will be explained as we go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim brings Rosie a surprise. It’s mostly a bribe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No chapter warnings

Rosie tends to get to work first. A habit picked up when she’d first been hired, fearful of disappointing Mr. Bouchard or Miss Robinson. She’s no longer so fearful, Mr. Bouchard was actually quite a nice man once you got past the odd feeling that he was looking through you. And Miss Robinson, well... 

But the habit sticks and Rosie uses it to rearrange the nick nacks on her desk, make sure the coffee maker is set to turn on minutes before the next person arrives. Well, she does this in the Archives break room anyways. The staff at the Institute usually just wandered down the street for coffee instead. 

But she knew Jon - the next to arrive, such a dedicated assistant - preferred a certain roast and Martin would rather swallow glass than let someone else make his tea. Tim could honestly go either way but if he was running behind, Rosie would rather he be able to grab a cup. Sasha was perfectly capable of coming in with a travel mug and the receptionist was quite aware that she switched to water not long after finishing.

On Mondays, she clears off the fallen rose petals that collect over a weekend, brushing them gently into a small tin filled with other drying leaves. The water from the vase is dumped and she replaces the old flowers with a new, small bouquet from the shop by her house. It brings a small patch of color to her rather drab work space, and she likes to tuck spare blooms behind Tim or Martin’s ear when they seem a bit stressed. 

Today is a Monday that she hasn’t been able to do that. She’d been running behind a bit, and only barely made it into the Institute before Jon arrived. She was frazzled and late and hadn’t had time to stop at the flower stand or the cafe down the street, and she was tired. Rather horrid dreams had plagued her, the sound of an odd laugh and the feeling of being displaced from her own life had kept her up rather late. 

So she sat at her desk, head in her hand and staring blankly at the book she used for Elias’ appointments (a sharp, black leather bound planner, as opposed to the floral covered one she used to schedule in statement appointment.) Jon wasn’t the only early bird, Martin having showed up early as well with a small box and a sincere wave that only marginally made her feel better. She longed to disappear into the break room in the Archives, to steal some coffee regardless of the fact she prefers flavored drinks, and was seriously considering it when the doors open once more. 

Expecting Mr. Bouchard or Sasha perhaps, the blonde sat up with a smile - only to let it drop in confusion. Tim breezed in, hands behind his back and that lovely crooked smile on his face. It’ was early, far too early for the laid back man, and Rosie tilted her head. “What did you do?”

“Rosie, my dearest Rosie.” The man pouted, a not very convincing look. “Nothing bad. Now as I’m sure you remember, Sash is officially taking over today. And I believe a celebration to be in order.”

“Uh huuh, and?” She teased, leaning forward. Tim copied her til they were nearly nose to nose. 

“So I need you to distract the new boss lady. Get her talking, keep her out of the break room. Saaaay, around lunchtime?’

The blonde smiled despite herself, warmed at the idea of being useful, and of the sweet way he cared for them all. Sensing he was winning, the brunet pulled his hands out to set a large cup in front of her. It was from her favorite place, and had a silly heart drawn on it. 

“Martin told me you looked dead on your feet.”

“Resorting to bribery, I see.”

“Perhaps but only the best bribery.” He stood straight, towering over her, and presented his other hand. A stained glass jar, filled with pastel little roses. “He also mentioned you hadn’t spruced the place up. Not that you being here doesn’t do it automatically but, you know.”

“Oh!” Rosie reached out, carefully taking it from him. Tim smiled and watched her carefully set the other vase in her work bag, and methodically move the new one until she seemed satisfied. “They are rather lovely, Tim... thank you.”

“Will you thank me byyyyy... distracting our lovely lady in common?” 

Smacking his arm gently - and watching him feign a horrible injury from it - Rosie laughed. “Yes, alright! Just stop blabbering about her being our... ‘lady in common.’ You sound ridiculous.”

“Only the most ridiculous for you, darling. Now, I must be off! We’re gonna do some extra research before Sash comes in so she doesn’t flip on us later.” Tim pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to her head before disappearing towards the Archives. 

“Oh that man,” the receptionist muttered fondly, smoothing her hair back down. Her eyes caught sight of the flowers once more and she giggled. 

So caught up in the brief euphoria that follows handsome men giving you flowers, she barely noticed the strange tingle on the back of her neck.


	2. Huggable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Martin is huggable and friend shaped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No chapter warnings that I can really think of

.  
The kettle is going.

Rosie forced herself to not slump against the wall in exhaustion, though it was tempting, and managed to drag herself into the break room. The kettle was indeed going, nearly done by the sounds of it, and Martin had his back to her. He was humming softly to himself as he measured out tea leaves into a pot, careful and meticulous as always. 

“Hey, Martin?” The tall man turned, a gentle smile on his face. “I don’t... I don’t suppose I could trouble you?”

“Rosie, you know you’re no trouble.” The man beckoned her over, a warm hand landing on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

The blonde huffed a sigh, burrowing her face into his arm. “Mr. Bouchard has unfortunately left me with quite a bit of filing. I’m not even his assistant, Martin!” She took a deep breath, trying to settle herself before she started crying into his jumper. He wouldn’t say anything, but she’s feel awful if she ruined it with running makeup. “Can I bug you for some tea? You make it so much better than the others do.”

Martin hummed, pouring the boiling water into the teapot. When he turned and dislodged her face, she could see there were three cups lined up.

One bore a cheery pun and cat picture, one with a university alumni logo and one actual tea cup decorated with flowers. 

“I overheard Elias on his way out when he dropped everything off with you. I thought you could use a pick me up.” The curly haired man smiled down at her and the urge to cry almost took her again. She pressed herself into his arms again and let him wrap her up tightly. 

He was soft and perfect for hugging and didn’t mind when she started to sniffle. “The others for Jon, isn’t it?” She knew her voice was watery but it didn’t stop him from laughing quietly. 

“He’s staying late to finish his check up on that statement he was out on earlier. I tried to tell him it could wait, but... well, you know Jon.” His voice was so incredibly fond that Rosie smiled and looked up at him. “Don’t give me that look.”

“What look? I’m just enjoying how love looks on you.”

Martin laughed at that, face flushing and freckles standing out. He gently shoved her off, though his hand stayed firm on her shoulder. “You’re being ridiculous. What are you, Tim?”

Rosie laughed too, enjoying the warmth of his body near hers. She’d have to grab one of the blankets they kept in storage, the building was kept so cold. Especially the Archives, and she knew she’d be moving her work down there to avoid the oppressive silence. Martin wouldn’t stay as late as Jon probably would, but hopefully the latter wouldn’t mind her company too much.

“Martin, I’m far too lactose intolerant to be Tim. He oozes cheese.”

“And you, my little friend, can’t get enough of it.”

“You!” She tried to hide her giggles as she swatted at the man, who batted her hands away easily. “You horrid little man!”

“Am I wrong? Are you going to look at me and tell me that I’m wrong?”

“How dare you quote memes at me!”

“Are you two quite finished?” 

Rosie squealed, jumping forward and clutching onto Martin’s jumper. Jon watched the two with a mostly unimpressed gaze (there was the vaguest hint of a smile.) He leaned in the doorway, a bit sloppy in his clothes and his hair mussed like he’s run his hands through it. His dark eyes took in the very tall, soft man gently patting the much, much smaller woman on the head and playfully scolding Jon for scaring her. 

“I suppose it’s going to be a long night all around then.”

“I’m sorry to ask, Jon, but can I please work down here with you? It’s so empty and echoey upstairs.”

“Oh he won’t mind,” Martin assured her, smiling when Jon rolled his eyes. “It’ll give him something to keep him awake, I’m sure.”

“Rosie, you know there’s a lot of dust down here. Your allergies are going to go mad.”

The blonde puffed out her cheeks, accepting her fragile cup from Martin with a quiet thanks. “I’d rather sneeze then scare myself silly anytime i hear a custodian walking around.”

“I don’t want to hear you complain.”

“Then I’ll complain to Martin.”


	3. Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin’s our sick, you know what that means!
> 
> Coffee at 7 pm!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings I can think of, please let me know if I’m missing any

Jon wasn’t in the best of moods. He so rarely was, especially since he’d been moved to Archives and had to deal with ‘tomfoolery’. Said tomfoolery often came in the form of Tim flirting with anything that breathed, or Martin trying to lighten the mood. Sasha was perfectly competent and he frankly found no fault in her or the way she’d chosen to take the Archives. 

“If you sneeze one more time, you’re banished back to the main entrance.”

The main fault was how often a certain blonde now found herself hanging around a dusty basement. 

“My desk isn’t at the main entrance, Jon.” Rosie sniffled, pushing her glasses back up. “And don’t be sour just because Martin isn’t here to-“

“Please don’t start a fight.” Sasha sighed from her perch on Tim’s desk, barely glancing up from the statement she was going over. “I’d hate to banish both of you.”

“I work here.”

“For all intents and purposes, Mr Sims, so do I.”

The archivist sighed louder, snapping the file closed. Tim was hiding a grin behind his hand, eyes sparkling with joy. “Aw come now. The Archives could use a bit of bloom, especially with Martin out sick.”

“She’s being a distraction. Shouldn’t she be working upstairs?”

“You do realize I’ve been off the clock since two, yes? Mr. Bouchard left early today and told me to scurry along.”

The black haired man slammed his laptop closed to properly look Rosie in the eye. “Then why, pray tell, are you here.”

“Maybe I’m here to flirt my way into your heart, Mr Sims. Is it working?”

Sasha rolled her eyes fondly, standing up. “You’re both ridiculous. How about I make us a pot of coffee since Martin can’t yell at us for it, and we dig out some snacks? I think we could use a break.”

Rosie brightened at that, hurrying to stand up. “I’ll make it, Jon’s gotten awfully particular and I don’t want him to yell at you,” she stage whispered as she passed Sasha. “The secret is decaf.”

“It better not be!” Jon stood to follow her, ignoring the loud cackling from his boss and fellow assistant as he tracked the blonde. “If you’re poisoning me first thing in the morning-“

“Oh relax, Jonathon.” Rosie busied herself with changing the filter, handing the carafe to him to rinse. “I wouldn’t give you decaf, even if your heart could use the cutdown. I think you’d go crazy axe murderer and frankly? I couldn’t out run you if i was a target.”

“... you do have shorter legs.”

“Oh no, my legs go for miles. I just have asthma.”

“Shut up. Just. Please...” Jon was smiling despite himself, and Rosie smiled back just as timid. Her relationship with Jon had been rocky since he’d started with the Institute and she hadn’t been comfortable reaching out. Not until their paths began to cross as she befriended the others. 

“I do actually add something to your coffee before I make it though,” she revealed, pulling a small jar from the cupboard. Jon watched, one eyebrow raised. She smiled again and turned it so he could see the label: dark chocolate powder. “Just enough to sweeten it a bit.”

Jon turned to fill the carafe up, trying to hide the exasperated smile. ‘Rosie, you are the most ridiculous woman I’ve ever met.”

“You’ve literally seen books that can cause humans to cannibalize their friends.”

“I said ridiculous. Not the worst.”

Rosie smiled at his back as he poured the water in the machine. “I like you too, Jon.”


	4. A Procession of Events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Receptionist Rosie hadn’t always been. First she was a scared little girl who needed to explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential trigger warnings: mentions of death, survivors guilt.
> 
> Timeline note: this is a Past chapter. Michael is roughly in his mid thirties, Gerry in his late twenties. Rosie starts off as a child, then roughly 19, and later is in her late twenties as she is for the rest of the chapters so far

Rosie’s first encounter with the supernatural comes when she is eight. She plays on the playground, her twin sister holding her hand as they run about, identical raincoats slick with rain. Their mother calls out to them, a quick shout of ‘Rosemary and Clary’ that nearly gets lost under the rolls of thunder. She beckons them over, eager to protect them from the rain, holding them under her umbrella. 

They walk home, the girls chattering away with hands still interlocked. Their mother, a kind woman who left America and the reserve she grew up on, listened as the girls spoke quickly, overlapping each other. It didn’t seem to matter to either of them, and frankly their mother wasn’t sure what they were on about, but she had a very peaceful moment where she once again was happy she’d made the decision to adopt them. 

Rosie doesn’t remember anymore, years later, why they entered that shop. She doesn’t remember why Clary had ran up to the pot covered in fractals. 

Her mother doesn’t remember Clary.

She’d given her statement when Gertrude Robinson had overheard her telling her story to the man she’d been on a date with. 

He’d laughed it off, of course, thinking it a fun little story about losing an imaginary friend. 

Gertrude had asked her if she wanted to come back to the Institute with her. 

Rosie had sat at the table with Gertrude, in her nicest flowery dress, nervous but reassured by this kind old lady. By the lovely blond man who’d brought her a cuppa. The dark haired man who offered her his seat at Gertrude’s desk and winked at her - with his real eye, not the many tattooed ones, as she’d later joke.

So she talked. Once she started, it was easy. Every detail she could remember and some she’d forgotten - Clary had needed the restroom, Rosie had been the one trying to climb the pot. She couldn’t explain though, why it had been Clary the fractal pot had claimed. Nor why she was the only one who remembered her sister. 

She’d been offered a job not long after. First year of Uni, and her mother had passed, and she needed another distraction from the empty house she’d been left with. Michael - the kind blond, her senior by at least fifteen years - had mentioned the need for someone to run more menial errands. 

“Why don’t you apply, Ro?” Gerry, with his tattoos and easy puns. 

(Rosie misses them both so much, even now.) 

So she had. Elias Bouchard had interviewed her, offered her a position that was more of an internship really. She would run errands for him, and Gertrude and the Archives staff. She was paid decently, they let her work the days she wasn’t in class, and when she’d graduated offered her a promotion.

“You got your own desk,” Gerry, with his sad eyes and constant headaches and a ring on a chain around his neck. More tattoos adorning his spine and jaw. “Congrats, kid.”

Rosie has worn a lot of black since she started at the Institute. It almost felt natural this morning when she slipped on her black dress and her pride necklace, an extra thick sweater. 

Gertrude Robinson had been responsible - sometimes indirectly, but responsible all the same - for the death of many of her friends. Michael’s coffin was buried empty, Gerry had been left in an American hospital. Samuel and Regina and -

And so many. And now, it was Gertrude’s turn with the funeral portrait. ‘In Memoriam.’ Elias offered Rosie a sympathetic pat on the shoulder when she entered the Institute, shown her to the small reception. It was them, a few of the archival staff. No family. Gertrude certainly hadn’t made many friends in her years as archivist. 

“Hey there, little flower.” 

She melted into the group from Archives easily, a tingle on the back of her neck where Elias’ arm had rested gently. Tim and Sasha offered gentle smiles - she had known Gertrude the longest, surely she was upset - and Martin pressed her cup into her hands and Jon offered a curt sentiment. 

The cup had been Michael’s. The necklace a gift from Gerry. Tears didn’t come, not for Gertrude Robinson. Tears from guilt, surviving when her friends hadn’t. Tears from the twisted relief that because Gertrude was gone, maybe she wouldn’t lose these new friends.


	5. Perfume

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roses are red, Martin smells like earl grey.   
> Sasha is flowers and springtime in may

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings I’m aware of?

Rosie was weak. 

Her bright eyes took in the words on her screen, the complaints about Mr Bouchard never having time for this person or a confirmation for that appointment. But her mind strayed. She was weak and that was okay. She’d complain to Tim later when they went to their nail appointment. He’d smile and probably agree with her, the advantages of being in love with the same girl. 

Okay, maybe Rosie wasn’t in love yet, not as deep as Tim had spiraled. She didn’t stare at her when she got lost info dumping, or offer up her jacket when Sasha complained about Elias freezing out the basement. No, Tim was the one who usually rescued Sasha. And Rosie on a few occasions. Though Rosie was lucky enough to work on the main floor. 

However, today. Today was torture. Sasha had come to escort a statement giver out of the Institute, and had come to check up with the receptionist. “I think we may have found a case of totally normal, just. Weird coincidence.” 

“I’m sure that must be a relief for them, yeah?” 

“I won’t lie, it is a bit for me as well.”

It hadn’t been a long conversation by any means, and Rosie had felt sympathy coursing through her when she saw the tired relief in her friend’s eyes. Taking over for Gertrude only a few weeks ago, and she’d already sorted through so many statements and follow ups. Of course she had the boys to help her, but it must’ve been taxing.

(Would she find Rosie’s statement?)

Sasha had returned to the Archives hours ago, now. She’d be taking off again soon hopefully, with the rest of them. The building was closing early for some sort of... thing? That Elias didn’t seem keen on explaining. Rosie hoped it was for a deep clean of some sort, her allergies had been acting up brutally - nothing to do with hanging out in the basement, thank you very much, Jon. 

There was a thin jumper resting on the back of Rosie’s chair. It wasn’t hers, had never been hers, but had been left on her desk. It was definitely Sasha’s, long and soft and striped. She hadn’t come back up for it - Tim probably coming to save the day - so Rosie had kept it next to her. 

Rosie was weak.

It smelled soft and floral, like spring and fruit maybe? It was sweet and the blonde found it very distracting. But she studiously worked her way through emails and order verifications that probably weren’t actually part of her job, fingers occasionally reaching back to toy with the soft sleeve of the sweater. 

“There it is! See, told you Rose would have the answers.”

Rosie jumped in her seat, glasses slipping from the top of her head onto her face awkwardly. Tim, an arm around Sasha and leather coat in hand, winked at her as she fumbled to stand up. The wink turned into a laugh when she made it to her feet, only to squeak when bare feet met cold floor. 

“Really ought to keep those shoes on,” Sasha admonished gently, offering a hand to steady her as she slipped her heels back on. “Or maybe something more practical you can wear socks with?”

“If I do that, I’ll officially be the shortest one here.”

“Being taller than Jon isn’t exactly worth the pain they bring you.” 

Tim watched them, gently humming to himself as he shrugged his coat on, and began separating Rosie’s denim coat from the sweater, and held them out to the girls. “I like being tall enough that people can give me the forehead kisses I so rightly deserve, Sash.” 

“Don’t you have a mani pedi to be getting to?” Sasha sounded fond, her smile threatening to break through. Rosie felt a rush of delight at having caused that look, and stuck her tongue out. “Go on, you two.” A hand was placed on each of their backs, Sasha pushing at Tim a little harder when he pretended to fight back. “Have fun, and please let me know when you get home.”

“Yes mum.”

“Timothy, if you ever call me ‘mum’ again.”

Both blonde and brunet looked at each other with playful grins. “Of course mum, I mean- ma’am.”

“That’s just as bad!” Sasha was laughing despite herself, pulling her hat further down to cover her ears. “Go before I fire you!”

Rosie laughed, stepping back so Tim could open the passenger door of his car. “I promise I’ll send him home before things get too wild... also, only Mr Bouchard can fire me!” 

“Tim, I want that vagabond out of my sight!”

“Whatever you say, Sash.” Tim chuckled, closing the door after Rosie climbed in and pressing a kiss to Sasha’s head. “Lemme know you got home safe, alright?”

When Tim was finally in the car, and the heat was adjusted, he looked sideways at Rosie. “You’re such a useless bi.”

“...it was soft!”


	6. A Kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does Rosie seem taller to you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings I can think of
> 
> Timeline note: Post Prentis attack on the Institute. Rosie uses the name ‘Rosie Meyer’, which I didn’t note in the previous Past chapter

Tim watched, arm around Sasha’s shoulders, as the redhead studiously paced around the main area of the Archives. A stack of folders and binders were gathered into her arms and she seemed to be looking for something. 

“Ro, you need any help?” Tim called cautiously, watching the woman turn sharply to look at him. Her bright blue eyes flicked between the two, and her red painted lips curled into a kind smile. 

“Oh, thank you Tim but I don’t think... I think what I’m looking for may have been lost in the Prentis attack.” The brunet frowned and carefully detached from Sasha, coming over to gently put a hand on the receptionist’s shoulder. 

“It’s literally our job to organize the place. What do you need?”

Rosie bit her lip, turning her gaze away. “I need to find a statement... from a bit ago. When Miss Robinson was still archivist. I’d say... oh, probably about five I think. Last name Roake. Rosemary Roake.”

Sasha tapped the name into a computer - Martin’s - and frowned when nothing came up. “Doesn’t look like we’ve digitizes that one.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen it in recent piles either. But we’ll keep an eye out for it, alright?” Tim smiled, receiving a small grin in return. “Elias is probably waiting for you anyways, Miss In Charge.”

“Oh stop, it’s not a big deal.” Rosie rolled her eyes, pushing a curl behind her ear. “I’ve always done the job, Elias just hadn’t officially named me assistant. It’s still ‘Rosie, please schedule the meeting with my divorce lawyer, my husband’s back in town.’ I just got a bit of a raise.”

Sasha looked up from the statements she was rifling through - there seemed to be one about a book, sounded interesting enough - and watched as the redhead leaned further into Tim’s space. Something felt off about the picture, like she was looking at it through a filter. Surely Rosie hadn’t always been that tall? 

Just a trick of a tired mind, probably. Prentis had left them all a little rattled, and sleep was a bit hard to come by. 

“Are you alright, Sasha?” The long haired woman blinked, realizing she’d been staring at the two. Tim looked concerned, and Rosie smiled softly at her. 

“She’s probably just a little out of it, Tim. I mean, we all are right?” The receptionist pulled away from Tim with a gentle pat on the arm, and came to squeeze Sasha’s hand. “I’ll bring you something to drink, how about that? Try and keep you awake.”

“Rosie, you don’t-“

“Please, just let me take care of you real quick? Elias won’t notice if I take a bit to go get a coffee.” 

With that, she turned on her heel, flats making no noise as she quickly headed up the stairs. 

“Does she seem taller to you?”

“Sash, I think she might be right. Go sit down, yeah?”


End file.
